


In the Shade of Quiet

by parsnips (trifles)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Bar, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Frottage, Hate Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Silence Kink, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-21
Updated: 2004-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trifles/pseuds/parsnips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He couldn't help it; the eyes lingered where the mind denied."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shade of Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 4.21.04, for thamiris.

  
He couldn't help it; the eyes lingered where the mind denied. Potter had caught a drop of butterbeer on the rim of his bottle. Tilt, drink, lower, and a hidden swipe with his lower lip, the flesh pulling along the glass edge and comforted by a flick of the tongue afterward. Draco had watched Potter down three of those bottles, and what had started a fairly mundane process had changed abruptly two-and-a-half beers in, when Potter had turned and seen Draco across the pub.

Potter was keeping the Weasel company for the evening, but the gangly red-head was standing now, unsure on his feet -- a moment later, he was making a run for the loo in the back. Potter stood, finished his butterbeer, and made as if to follow.

Draco swore under his breath. There was no way he could keep further tabs on the two of them in such enclosed quarters, and since he'd already been spotted it would look highly unusual if Potter caught him standing idly outside the toilet with an ear to the door. He was finished for this evening, no matter what he'd hoped to gain--

Potter had stopped at the threshold to the loo. His fingertips were just touching the wood, as if they'd been caught on the grain. Potter's fingers were preternaturally long; perhaps they'd been switched with Weasley's at birth. Potter was just standing there, looking at the door, dropping his head, looking at the floor now, turning his face to the side, looking at the bar top, looking... looking at Draco. Lowered eyes glancing sideways behind his glasses, just long enough to be intentional, and then he pushed the door and stepped out of sight, watching Draco watch him.

_Christ._

Draco pushed his own butterbeer away, slid off the bar stool and followed. He prayed briefly that certain spies weren't being spied on in turn -- although at this moment, this particular moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

The door swung inwards; there were two stalls and a filthy sink and mirror, wood panelling and a floor dark from ill-use and an unfortunate laminate. Weasley was propped up over one toilet, his back to the door, moaning like something had died, probably in his beer. But Potter--

From behind, a hand clamped over his mouth. _Wand._ The thought was automatic, but perhaps that was one more reason why Potter had stopped Draco from speaking. And it was Potter -- when dry lips pressed against the nape of his neck, he felt the round dent of a pair of glasses in his hair. Draco let the wand slide back up his sleeve; he let his body relax back; he let his tongue flick out as he'd seen Potter's do, and taste Potter's palm.

Potter shuddered behind him, and pulled him to one side -- away from the door, but not entirely out of Weasley's immediate view should he happen to turn around.

As Potter knelt in front of Draco, careless of his trouser knees on this fetid floor, careless of how green his eyes were, it became clear that they would have to make sure that the Weasel had no reason to turn. Draco started to murmur a silencing spell, but Weasley jerked, called out a question. Potter responded with something soothing, all the while glaring up at Draco with near hatred. This was how it was. But Potter's eyes were still green, and he was still kneeling in front of Draco's steadily growing erection, and Draco nodded and tried no more spells.

Harry stared up at him a moment longer, then raised his hand up to the bulge in Draco's trousers. His hand, with so very long fingers, traced the outline of Draco's cock beneath the fabric, finding the head, pulling one ragged-edged nail across it. Draco arched, and bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to bleed. He didn't make a sound.

Harry nodded, unbuttoned Draco's trousers, and kissed his cock.

_Silence, silence, silence--_ The Dark Lord's words repeated over and over in his mind, and the voice the Dark Lord used was Potter's. Potter held the base of him with one hand and cupped his balls with the other, and his lips dragged across the head of Draco's cock like he was chasing drops of butterbeer. One, two, his tongue licking away precum, his lips pursing as he took half of Draco's cock into his mouth. When he released Draco, his teeth grazed the underside; he returned to lick the pain away.

Draco could feel the grain of the panelling behind him, could feel it indelibly printing its pattern into his fingertips, changing his identity from Draco Malfoy to someone who Harry Potter gave blowjobs to. Harry Potter did not get on his knees for bad men, did not taste their skin, did not suck them dry with his best friend barely conscious five feet away. In fact, Harry Potter did not have sex with anyone, whether in a silk-draped four poster or in the backroom toilet of a pub, because Harry Potter was too fucking perfect to have a sex drive, and therefore it didn't matter if Draco was to stay himself or change entirely, because this was not Harry Potter, this was not Potter's mouth or lips or tongue or teeth or long, long fingers or nails with bitten edges.

Weasley's moans were starting to form more coherent phrases. Words that drifted in and out, talking about Granger, school, _silence,_ talking about Draco, Snape, the Dark Lord, one of a million evils populating the world and Potter moved faster, pumping and sucking his cock while those clever fingers teased under Draco's balls. Draco spread his legs as much as the lowered trousers would allow, and immediately Potter's hand slid between his legs, the fleshy portion of his palm pressing up against Draco while one long finger pressed against Draco's opening and the wood-rough fingertip entered him and Potter's eyes were green and staring and Draco came _silence silence silence_ in Harry's mouth.

Harry stood in a flash, Draco's shuddering release barely finished, and kissed Draco hard, more a punch than anything else, forcing Draco's mouth to open. A warm rush of fluid, semen and spit, flooded him; Harry pulled away, and Draco swallowed it all knowing that Harry was watching him do so. Harry wiped his mouth, wiped Draco's mouth, and then left the dirtied hand there like a god's offering; Draco took the gift and licked the fingers clean. Harry closed his eyes, began to shake. A moment later Harry came in his trousers, silent as he was supposed to be, thrusting up against Draco's hip while his hands pressed against the panelling on either side of him.

Weasley made a hiccuping sound, and started to try to stand. A pause too long as Harry rested against Draco, touched his mouth to Draco's jaw, and then he stepped away and dismissed Draco with a jerk of his head. Potter walked over to Weasley and started helping him up.

If his steps were unbalanced and his speech strange, there were none who would say that butterbeer wasn't the cause of it.

Draco pulled out his wand and, under the cover of Potter's loud reassurances to Weasley, whispered the Apparation spell. Just before he felt the wind of magic clean the feel of woodgrain from his skin, Potter looked over his shoulder at Draco.

Green eyes, an arm supporting Weasley, and... Draco could pretend his expression meant anything at all.

  
END


End file.
